


Playthings Reprise

by RockSaltandCherryPie



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom!Sam, Episode: s02e11 Playthings, M/M, Wincest - Freeform, top!dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 18:29:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2238993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RockSaltandCherryPie/pseuds/RockSaltandCherryPie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean swallows and watches Sam's eyes filling glossy with tears. He wants to shout, wants to scream <i>no way!</i> and stroke through Sam's hair and make all of this go away just like a bad dream or a cut or a bruise. But he knows it goes deeper than that now. People are dying. He tries to tell himself <i>people are dying</i> but somehow the only one on his mind's Sam. There was a time when he cared about the greater good but now... now's so different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playthings Reprise

**Author's Note:**

> So there's a story behind this.  
> Yes, I already wrote a fic _just like this_ (to some extent) called "let me take your burdens away." It was the first Wincest fic I wrote, and I just kind of threw up all my Wincest feels on the page. So I wanted to re-write the same thing a little differently because I feel really strongly about this scene and episode in general (s2e11 "Playthings"). There's a moment of realization of codependency for the first time, Dean realizes Sam's trusting him with killing him, realizes there's actually no way he's doing that, lies to him because he just wants to make him happy, it's all he ever wants, and there's just something so hauntingly beautiful about that. If I had to pinpoint a moment I began to really see Wincest, it would be this moment.  
>  I _still_ don't think I did it justice in my mind (I'm never happy with my stuff), even though this took almost three weeks to complete (on and off). Maybe some day further down the line I'll pick it up a _third_ time, but haha, here it is for now.  
>  Enjoy. :)

The room smells like whiskey and Jager. It's room 237 and Dean can't help but think of _The Shining_ every time he sees the number on their little key. He's brought it up to Sam, who, of course, shook his head at the impression Dean did of Nicholson and changed the subject.

He places the key down now, coming into the dark room, and informs Sam that there's been another death at the inn. Apparently Sam already knows. He's slumped in the chair, eyes all glazed over. Dean looks around at the empty bottles and the darkness and realizes what's going on.

"You drunk?" He asks Sam, who doesn't deny it.

Sam's going on about how he couldn't save the guy or Ava and the more people he saves the more he can "change."

"And what exactly are you trying to change?" Dean asks, walking over.

"My _destiny_ , Dean!" Sam raises his voice and Dean just stares. Sam rarely drinks, so when he does, when he gets like this, he's honest and open and Dean can see right through him. Sam's eyebrows curl up at Dean, he's giving him this hurt puppy look and Dean hoists him up.

"All right. Time for bed. C'mon, Sasquatch."

"I need you to watch out for me," Sam's saying, and Dean knows already, it's what he's been doing his whole life.

"No, I need you to watch _out_ for me," Sam emphasizes, and Dean realizes what he means.

"And if I ever turn into something that I'm not... You have to kill me."

And Dean knew it. Knew that's what Sam would end up thinking. Dean curses himself for ever having told him the truth about what their dad said. I mean what the hell was Dad thinking anyway, laying that crap on him about killing his own brother? It was bullshit.

Sam disagrees now. He says Dad was right to say it because people are dying around him.

"Yeah, well _I'm_ not dying," Dean reassures. "And neither are you. Come on," Dean guides him down on the bed because Sam needs to sleep, needs to forget all about this and drift off. If Dean has to force him to, so be it.

Sam doesn't lay back. He clutches on to Dean and pleads with him and Dean's heart is slowly breaking.

"Please, you're the only one who can do it. Promise!" Dean's never seen Sam's eyes so big. And they're just staring deep into the depths of his soul, just like Sam's always been able to do, waiting.

"Don't ask that of me," Dean starts to shake his head but Sam only grips on to his shirt tighter and begs for a promise.

Dean swallows and watches Sam's eyes filling glossy with tears. He wants to shout, wants to scream _no way!_ and stroke through Sam's hair and make all of this go away just like a bad dream or a cut or a bruise. But he knows it goes deeper than that now. People are dying. He tries to tell himself _people are dying_ but somehow the only one on his mind's Sam. There was a time when he cared about the greater good but now... now's so different. He's tired. He's killed for Sam, for Dad. Innocent people, trapped in their own bodies. People being possessed, probably scared to death. Didn't even flinch. And he was more than ready to go with Sam when they thought Sam had afflicted that freaky demon virus. There's nothing he wouldn't do for him and that scares him. So no, there was no way in _hell_ he would end him. He'd sooner end himself.

He recalls Dad's words, how he had mentioned something about trying to save Sam and he realizes that's his way out. Dad had said to kill him _only if_ he couldn't save him. Dean resolves that he's going to do everything in his power to save Sam above all else. This way, he can make the promise to appease this drunken Sam (who'll most likely forget everything in the morning anyway) and still feel right inside and not like a _complete_ liar.  

"I promise," he says, and Sam looks so relieved the tear that's been waiting finally trickles down over his cheek.

"Thanks," he says, and then his hands come up and cup Dean's face. "Thank you."

Dean's heart gives an involuntary clench at the realization of why Sam's suddenly so complacent. Sam's always been so goddamn selfless and ready to sacrifice himself. He's trusting Dean with everything, with literally ending his life, and he's _content._ Dean knocks his hands away, suddenly upset, Sam's big eyes burning holes in him.

"Alright, c'mon..." He tries to lay Sam down but Sam struggles.

"No" he's saying. "Wait. Please."

And then Sam's wrapping his arms around Dean's waist and smearing his face against his shirt.

"What...?" Dean starts to say as he takes in a sharp breath. He feels Sam's humid breath pressed up against his shirt, seeping through. At first Dean doesn't know what to do with his hands, after all, it's been a long time since Sam's done something like this. Sure, Dean's been there to support Sam's weight when he can't stand, he's been there to wake him from his nightmares and to watch over him when he sleeps but to _hug_ Sam affectionately like this, it's... well, it's been a really long time. _He is drunk after all,_ Dean reminds himself as he lets his hands slowly stroke through Sam's hair and over his shoulders. It's vaguely familiar, a distant memory of Sam hugging him like this out in a field comes into his mind. Forth of July, 1996. Sam was just a kid then, naive and carefree. And he was excited about something as mundane as fireworks. Dean thinks it's ironic and unsettling at the same time.

Sam pulls him in tighter. Dean's breathing's going like two hundred kilometers an hour for some reason, _they never get this close_ , but he tries to be the big brother Sam can lean on. He's hurting and all Dean can do is _be there_ right now.

"Please," Sam keeps saying, voice muffled against t-shirt and Dean doesn't know what else to do.

"I need you..." Dean thinks he's gonna say _to watch out for me_ again but he doesn't finish. Sam's hands are at his back and now Dean's acutely aware of caressing thumbs. Sam tilts his head up so his chin's resting on Dean's stomach and Dean brushes the sticky hair from his eyes cause he's not sure what else he should do. It's a natural fraternal reaction and he expects Sam to close his eyes and start to drift off but instead he keeps his eyes glued on Dean's, moonlight reflecting off of them and making them gleam.

"Please," Sam mumbles, his eyes getting heavy. He rolls his head around against Dean's stomach. "Dean, please. Don't go." He keeps _pleading_ and Dean's not sure what's going on but he could hear the shake in Sam's voice and he just wants to make it go away.

"I'm not going anywhere," Dean listens to his own voice slowly lose its composure. "I'm right here, Sammy."

Sam balls Dean's t-shirt in his fists and looks up again. He pleads some more, whispering this time.

"What?" Dean drops to his knees to face Sam. "Sam, what do you want?"

"I want you," Sam's saying quietly and he's still fisting Dean's t-shirt so when he tugs on it Dean has no choice but to follow. Dean's heart stops and their foreheads press together. "I want you..."

Dean can barely breathe. He smells the liquor on Sam's breath and he practically hears his own heart thumping in his chest, blood pumping too fast for his brain. His mind screams _NO NO NO_ but his body's barely moving. Their noses push together and then he feels Sam's soft lips. Sam's _kissing_ him. Actually friggin _kissing_ _—_

Dean pulls back a little, searching Sam's eyes, wanting to say something to him, _anything,_ and _why can't he tell him NO?_ But Sam's looking at him and clinging on to him like he's sick and Dean's the only cure.

"I need you, Dean... _please_..."

Dean's heart practically shatters watching Sam's wet eyes plead and listening to Sam's voice change to soft and desperate. Sam doesn't make the next move, he waits for Dean to give in to him like he always does. Sam's unburdened by the reality that comes with sobriety, his judgement's a little cloudy, the idea of morality probably isn't even crossing his mind.

Dean's holding his little brother's face in his palm, other hand clenched around the sleeve at his shoulder. Sam leans in a little, reassuring, and Dean isn't even sure what he's doing before he's giving in and closing what little distance was left between them.

Sam's lips melt under his own, and it's crazy and messed up but it's something else too. Dean pinpoints it as the same feeling he got when he first rode a roller coaster at Coney Island. It was terrifying and thrilling and at once his favorite thing to do. He went on the same one at least ten times until it got dark.

Kissing Sam's making his head light and fuzzy, all lips and tongue and nicking teeth and he pulls back briefly to say " _Sammy_ " as a kind of empty last protest, to which Sam just hums and lets his lips smear along Dean's cheek.

Their mouths drag together again, Dean lets his hand drop to caress Sam's thigh, feeling the denim scratch under his fingers. Now Sam's parting his legs and Dean's kneeling in between them, releasing his mental weight and moving on sheer impulse.

They're on the bed before either of them thinks twice, Sam's pulling Dean over him and trying to take Dean's shirt off. Dean shrugs out of it, muddled mind spinning wildly, it's confused but excited all at the same time. He helps Sam out of his two shirts and their lips smack together again, Dean kisses a line up Sam's jaw to his ear and noses in his warm hair. He listens to Sam moan approval when he thrusts his hips a little, slotting their pelvises together and hearing their belts clink and scrape. Sam fumbles with Dean's belt, hands working too fast, and nods when Dean gives him a look of uncertainty.

"It's okay, Dean... please... I want this. I want this."

Dean kisses up his neck to his chin and groans a little when Sam gets a hand on his cock. He's already hard and eager.

"What do you want me to do, Sammy?" Dean whispers, voice gentle and shaking.

Sam pulls him down by his back and their chests press together. Sam's body is hard and firm underneath him, half-naked and anxious.

"Want you to fuck me, Dean," he whispers in his ear.

And it's what Dean was ultimately anticipating but to hear Sammy say it, he feels his breath hitch in his throat and his cock jerk against Sam.

He grasps at Dean's hips and his back, urging him, and Dean keeps pressing kisses to his neck and his lips, unconsciously prolonging the moment. Half of him hopes Sam doesn't mean what he's saying, but he knows Sammy only speaks the truth when he's drunk. He's acting so sure of himself Dean forgot for a second he was even drunk to be begin with. It's like his head's perfectly clear and Dean's in the one completely in shambles.

"Do it, Dean, come on," and they get their pants off and Sam throws his legs around Dean and Dean gets his fingers wet and tests how tight Sam is.

Sam moans and tugs on Dean, tossing his head back as Dean slowly prepares him. The last thing he wants to do right now is hurt Sammy, especially now his wrist's broken, but Sam seems like he can't wait, writhing underneath him and trying to find a rhythm with Dean's fingers. He's tight, really tight, and Dean imagines it's the first time he's ever done something like this and feels a sick sense of triumph deep inside him as he opens Sam up on his fingers.

"No, Dean," Sam's gasping, " _fuck_ me."  

"I know, I know. I'm gonna. Don't wanna hurt you..."

Sam groans. "I don't _care._ I have to... have to feel you..."

"I know," Dean shushes him and kisses lines up his cheeks over and over. "I know, I'm here."

" _Dean,_ goddamn it," Sam utters after another few thrusts of Dean's fingers, and tugs on Dean's body.

"Turn over," Dean tells him, and Sam gets up and twists around under Dean eagerly, naked back arching on the bed, moonlight reflecting off his pale skin. Dean rubs his lower back and holds his breath as he pushes in, slowly at first, until Sam starts the movements. He rocks back, testing the stretch, gasping and grunting.

Once they find a rhythm they stick to it and it's easier to move as one, but the friction's so good before long Dean's going faster than Sam and they're uncoordinated again. Sam's moaning loud enough for other guests to hear and the old bed keeps making loud creaking noises but Dean doesn't care.

It's sweaty and it's rough and sloppy and possibly the hottest sex Dean's ever had. That thought makes him realize just how sick he is, fucking into his baby brother and enjoying it _way_ too much that he's losing his mind because of it. He bites at Sam's shoulder, tastes his flesh and sweat and chases the orgasm that's building inside of him.

Sam keeps saying _fuck_ over and over and Dean can feel Sam's body clenching up around his cock and it's making his head spin. Sam slams into him harder, hips slapping each other again and again and Dean holds his thigh down on the bed, pushes it up for better leverage and gives it to him faster until they both fall over the edge.

They don't say anything after, Dean doesn't even pull out right away. He collapses over Sam, sticky and wrung-out, and strokes over the tops of his arms. Sam sighs softly under him, coming down from the high and closing his eyes.

He can't think, can't think _I just fucked my brother_ because it's too hard, can't think about what Dad would have said, can't think about the fucking _law_ and morality and all that fucking bullshit.

It doesn't matter.

What he does think about is _Sam._ He gave Sam what he needed, this was just another way he was able to look out for him like he always does. The fact that he enjoyed it possibly a little too much doesn't ever need to be brought up again.

It was a one time thing, and it'll most likely be forgotten about in the morning.

For now, they sleep lying naked side by side. Sam's on his stomach, tousled strands of wet brown hair stick to his lashes and his blood-flushed mouth. Dean watches his eyes get all heavy until they eventually fall closed. He figures it's the last chance he's gonna get so he leans over and plants a soft kiss to Sam's temple before drifting off himself.


End file.
